Familiar Strangers
by suppi-kero-chans
Summary: Ever wonder how Harry, for all his suffering, arrived at Hogwarts so welladjusted? He recieved some good advice from a familiar stranger. :: JL : unexplained time travel : fluffy fatherson moment : one shot : complete ::


This idea came mostly because I like fics that put Harry and James together in the same time frame, but I generally don't like "James is alive" fics. So here's my contribution to the wonderful world of Harry-James-father-son-moment stories.

* * *

Poking nervously at the chicken on his plate, James Potter tried his best to look sweet and charming. It was not an easy feat. 

At one end of the dining table was Lily, who was smiling encouragingly, though in a terribly obvious way. At the other end was a tall, severe-looking, red-haired man who was also casting him looks often, though they were anything but encouraging. Indeed, Mr. Evans looked as if James Potter was the least welcome person to ever share his dining table. 

Making things even worse were Mrs. Evans's polite smile and frequent questions about school, his planned future, and his own family. As much as he knew she was only trying to break the tension, the short answers he was forced to bark out into the pregnant silence were painful and he couldn't help but feel like he was talking too loudly. 

To add the very perfect finishing touch, Petunia, Lily's sister, was sitting across from him, casting him sour glares, her lips drawn together in the most terrible grimance, especially when he'd mentioned wanting to be an Aurora after leaving school. Lily had thankfully stepped in to explain what that was so he wouldn't be forced to, but at the mention of "dark wizards," Petunia's mouth had flattened, her lips dangerously close to disappearing all together as she stared hard at James in a way to suggest that she doubted very much that _every_ wizard wasn't "dark." 

This wasn't how he'd thought he would be spending his Christmas holiday when Lily had pushed the door to his dormroom open and happily bounced onto his bed, exclaiming that her parents had invited him for the week. "They want to meet you since I talk about you so much in my letters!" she'd told him with a broad smile. 

Looking into Lily's bright, green eyes, so loving and reassuring, it was easy for James to imagine that he would walk into a warm house and be greeted by friendly, loving people who wanted nothing more than to meet the charming young man their daughter was taken with. In actuality, he'd discovered as he stepped over the threshhold of the plain, sand-color house, they hadn't wanted to meet any such charming young man. They wanted to calculatingly appraise him from a closer distance, without Lily's love-colored glasses fogging their view of the boy was trying to steal their daughter. 

From the moment Mr. Evans had gripped his hand firmly and announced, "I'm Lily's father," with no small amount of a threat, James knew that this was going to be one of the longest Christmas holidays he'd ever had to endure. Longer and more unpleasant, perhaps, than the one he'd foolishly agreed to spend at Grimmauld Place during his third year when Sirius had nearly begged for company. 

"If you're full, don't feel like you have to eat," Mrs. Evans said kindly. 

Petunia was peering peevishly at the mutilated chicken breast and untouched potatos on his plate as if his lack of appetite were a personal insult to her. 

Feeling as if he'd done something else wrong, James set his fork down quickly. "No, it's just that I'm a little tired I think. After the train ride." 

"I'll take James up and show him the guest room." Before Mr. Evans could protesthe began chewing his mouthful more quickly as if to get it down in time to say somethingLily stood up and started out of th room, motioning for James to follow her. 

Not needing telling twice, and noticing that Lily's father was very close to swallowing, James stood up quickly and nodded to Mrs. Evans. "It was lovely, thank you." With that, he retreated through to the hall, where Lily was waiting for him. He gave a great, silent sigh. 

"They aren't so bad," she whispered, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs. "They just don't know you very well yet." 

"Hmm," he agreed flatly. As they went up the stairs, James stared at the still photos of Lily and Petunia as children. He'd never been in a Muggle house before. Sure, he'd seen plenty of still photos in his Muggle studies class, but to actually be here, in a real Muggle house, was a little more than he'd been prepared for. He got over his feeling of being over-whelmed quite quickly, however, as Lily led him through the second door on the left side of the hall. 

"What do you think? The bed's not too comfortable, but the room is always warm." 

Smirking mischeviously, the disasterous dinner all but forgotten, James pulled Lily onto the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "I think it's the best bed I've ever been on," he answered, kissing her cheek. 

Lily pushed him away and stood up, smiling. "All right, lover boy." 

James grinned lopsidedly up at her, his hair even more messy from rolling on the bed. "I'll see you in the morning." 

"See you." 

Smiling to himself, James rolled onto his back, his fingers laced behind his head. He enjoyed knowing something someone else did not, especially when it was Lily. And what she didn't know was that there was a small, velvet box tucked in the side pocket of his school bag. 

With less than a year before graduation, James had been making some serious plans and they all revolved around Lily and him getting married. Sometimes when he thought about it, they lived in the country and had several children, all red-haired and blue-eyed. Other times, they lived in the city, just down the street from the Ministry, and had one very cute, very spoiled daughter. Still other times, they lived in a neighborhood not much unlike this one, with two sons, one James Jr. and the other Sirius. 

The happy feeling that grew in James's chest suddenly died out when he thought of Lily's family. Her mother was fine, but he didn't want to imagine what Mr. Evans might do to him if he suggested marrying his daughter... 

James had planned on making the ring a semi-Christmas present, presented with a ribbon and a kiss on a snowy morning while standing in the middle of a warm kitchen that smelled like hot chocolate and baking ham. Of course, when he'd fantisized about that, he'd been planning to invite Lily to meet his family. Being on Privet Drive put a slight kink in his plans. 

With a sigh of resignation, James stood back up and began digging through his bags to find his pajamas. Laying awake, lamenting the changes fate had made to his plan wouldn't help him. What he needed to do was get some sleep and regroup. And who knew. Maybe Mr. Evans was just cranky in the evenings. James doubted that the man would like him much more over breakfast than he had over dinner, but it _could_ happen.

* * *

James's thoughts had been correct. Mr. Evans did not like him over eggs and toast. If anything, the disagreeable crease in his brow had deepened through the night. Mrs. Evans, for all her effort, wasn't helping ease the tension. 

When breakfast was gone and Mr. Evans had left for work, Lily stood up from her chair, smiling. "Get your scarf. I'll show you around the neighborhood." 

At the thought of getting time alone with Lily, James nearly tipped his chair, he stood up so fast. "Thank you for the eggs, Mrs. Evans. They were delicious." 

"You're welcome." She smiled warmly. 

Within moments, James had on a jacket and his school scarf. The jacket felt unny and he was sure his cloak would have been warmer, but Lily didn't seem to agree. 

"The jacket will be fine. Besides, if you go out in a cloak, the neighbors will stare." 

Not wanting to do anythign he shouldn't, James only nodded and tied his scarf more tightly around his neck as he followed Lily out to the tidy street. The neighborhood was very much unlike Godrics Hollow, where his own home was. The houses on Privet Drive were orderly and neat, each looking exactly like the next. The cars in the driveways all looked the same and each front window had a perfectly-shaped, highly decorated Christmas tree peeking from behind its drapes. The snow on the roofs and lawns added to the picturesque look, making the street look like a little village main street in a snowglobe. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" 

"It's neat. Where are we going?" 

Lily smiled, her cheeks already flushed from the pre-Christmas cold. "There's a park I thought we could walk to. Petunia and I use to play there all the time when we were younger." 

"A park sounds nice." It didn't sound nice at all. It sounded like it would be full of children, yelling and ruining a perfect chance for James to be alone with Lily. But he only smiled back at her. 

When they got to the park, there were, indeed, children. Most of them were chasing each other in the snow. Others were rolling a head for a fat snowman who stood by the swing set. Looking around, James was just about to comment that his fingers were getting cold when a large, heavy snowball hit him squarely in the chest. Several feet away, Lily stood, holding a second snowball and grinning. 

Scooping up a handful snow, James began to chase her, laughing as he ducked her second attack. He flung his snowball and hit her in the back. In seconds, another one was flying back at him. Before long, the two were laughing and making more noise than the children with their snowman. 

Several minutes later, Lily collapsed in the snow. "I give up. I give up." 

Smiling, James sank down beside her, dropping the last snowball he'd patted together. "I win." 

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in." 

"So what do I get?" 

For a moment Lily looked at him, her lips curved in a thoughtful smile, her dark eyes sparkling. Then she said, "The satisfaction of knowing you can beat up a poor, defenseless girl." 

"You aren't defenseless!" he answered, laughing. 

Lily laughed, too. 

Before he could think that it could be inappropriate with so many children watching, James kissed her. I hope, he thought. I really, _really_ hope that Christmas wishes come true. 

Suddenly, a warm feeling rose in his chest. It slowly spread through his limbs, burning in his fingertips. Jumping back from Lily, who looked as surprised as he did, James said, "Did you just fee" The rest of his words died on his lips. He slumped backwards, his eyes sliding shut.

* * *

Hunched behind a tall bush on the corner of the street, Harry Potter peered out between the snow-covered branches. He knew if he waited until Gordon went by he'd have a chance to make it to school without getting thrown in a snowbank. With Christmas break only days away and the snow already piled up to the window ledges, Dudley's gang seemed to think that burying Harry in snowbanks was even more fun than hitting him. 

When Gordon came around the corner, Harry held his breath and tried to squeeze farther into the bush, hoping he wouldn't be spotted. When the coast was clear, Harry stood up and brushed the snow off the knees of his baggy pants. Sighing, he picked up his school bag and started running down the road. If he hurried, he could get to class before

"There he is!" a voice yelled from behind him. 

When one is running from a person, it is a very bad idea to look over one's shoulder. Harry, however, who was only nine, had not learned this lesson. As he tossed a glance back at Gordon, who'd obviously not been as far down the road as he'd thought, he lost his footing on a patch of ice. His feet flew out from under him and he landed on his backside, sliding a few inches. Before he could stand back up, Piers had him by the arm and was hauling him towards the high snowbank by the park fense, Gordon and Dudley following beind, sniggering menacingly. 

Piers shoved Harry into the snow, laughing. "What's the matter, Potty? Don't like playing in the snow?" 

"We like playing in the snow," Gordon said. "Hey, Dudley, let's build a snowman!" 

Laughing stupidly, Dudley nodded his agreement. Scooping snow up in his massive, mittened hand, he said, "First thing's to get a good, big pile." He heaved the snowball at Harry with all his might, hitting him in the side of the face, knocking his glasses off. 

Harry threw his arm up to protect his face, but it did little good. By now, the other two were throwing snowballs, equally as large and equally as hard, at him. 

Curled in the snowbank, feeling cold and humiliated, all Harry could think was that he hoped something happened to make them stop. His frozen skin stun painfully as the lumps of hard snow hit it and he was sure his glasses would be broken, if he could even manage to find them when Dudley and his friends were finished. 

Let someone come, he thought widely. Let someone look out their window and see. Please! Please let something happen to make them stop. 

And, quite suddenly, they did stop. The three boys gasped. 

Oh no! Harry thought, horrified. What happened now? He wasn't sure what he expected to have happened, but he was sure he'd get in trouble for it. Feeling around in the snow for his glasses, he stopped when he heard a deep, slightly ill-sounding voice call, "You boys, what are you doing? Leave him be!" 

Dudley and his friend threw their last snowballs at Harry, then ran, the sound of their feet pounding in the snow thumping through Harry's head as he continued to search for his glasses. Now that it was over, he wished no one had seen. Sure, everyone knew Dudley's gang hated him, but he didn't think the idea of having people watching him getting beat into a bank by snowballs was so wonderful. 

He heard the voice again, a little more steady. "All right, kid?" 

"I'm fine," he mumbled, still feeling for his glasses. 

The cold frames were pushed into his hand. "Took a few good ones. Gonna have a bruise there." 

Putting his glasses on, grateful that they weren't broken, Harry struggled out of the snowbank and looked up at the boy who'd helped him. He was much older than Harry, but he was still school aged. He had thin-rimmed glasses, untidy hair, and the strangest, red- and gold-striped scarf. "Thanks," he mumbled. 

"No problem. You should have put up more of a fight." 

Harry glared up at him, his cheek stinging. "And done what? Gotten it worse?" 

The boy shrugged. "I guess you would have, huh? Hope you have better luck. But I need to ask you a favor." 

"What?" 

"Do you knwo where the Evanses live?" 

"There aren't any Evanses. Not that I know of." The name Evans sounded vaguely familiar to Harry, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it. However, he was sure there hadn't been anyone by that name in the neighborhood. He'd never heard Aunt Petunia mention them or their business. 

The boy looked troubled. "Are you sure? I mean, if you" 

There was a sudden, loud clanking of tin cans on ice. "Good Saint Merlin!" 

Harry winced instinctively. He knew that voice...Mrs. Figg, the crazy cat lady who lived down a street from the Dursleys. 

Leaving her catfood tins scattered on the sidewalk, Mrs. Figg hobbled quickly across the street, her tall rain boots slipping dangerously on the icy patches. Harry expected her to start questioning him about his state, so when she stopped, toe-to-toe with the stranger, and said, "James?" he was more than a little surprised. 

"Um, yes. Do I know you?" 

The woman's face turned pale. She gaped at him for a moment, then stumbled back a step. "I have toBut what are you" She stopped, staring down at Harry, who now had blood running from his nose. "What happened to you?" 

"Some boys were beating him up. But that's not important. How do you know me?" 

Mrs. Figg glared cock-eyed at first the strangerJamesthen at Harry. "I think you both better come with me." 

Desperiate not to have to go to Mrs. Figg's house, Harry grasped at the only thing he could think of that might save him. "I'll be late for school." 

"You'll bleed to death on the way," she snapped, grabbing the collar of his coat and pulling him along. "You, too," she called back at James. "Better not leave you standing on the street." 

Several minutes later, James and Harry followed Mrs. Figg into her hot, cat-smelling house, their arms full of catfood tins (the store bag they'd been in broke when she dropped it in her surprise). 

"Sit. And don't talk to each other. I have to make a call." She shuffled out of the room, her huge boots dragging across the carpet, pushing cats out of the way. 

Sitting stiffly on the couch, Harry dabbed at his nose with his coat sleeve. He sincerely hoped she wasn't calling the Dursleys. 

"Here." James was holding out a handkerchief with JP embroidered on it in red thread. 

"I'll ruin it." 

"Mum always gives me loads of them when I go off to school. I have plenty." 

Taking the cloth, he wiped his face then pinched his nose. 

"They usually beat up on you like that?" 

Harry nodded, staring at his shoes. 

"Should give them a good punch in the nose." 

Looking up, he snorted a little, making blood spurt out of his nose and down his front. "Yeah, right. Then my aunt and uncle would really have a reason to get mad at me." 

"You can't just sit there and take it. I mean, the more you let them get away with things like that, the more they'll do it." 

More to himself than to James, Harry stated firmly, "I hate them. Sometimes I wish I could make something really bad happen to all of them." 

James was quiet for a long moment. "You shouldn't think that. I mean, sure, it sounds like a good idea, but in the end it's you who ends up getting hurt. I mean, you hating them doesn't do anything to them. It just makes you miserable." 

"So what should I do? Besides punching them, because that wouldn't help, either." 

"I don't know. Lily would say to just ignore them. Or don't let them get to you. When you think about how long you're going to live, the little bit of time you have to take crap from them really doesn't amount to much, so just get through it and don't let it effect you. That's what she tells me all the time." 

Harry thought for a minute. "She sounds kinda smart." 

Smiling, James nodded. "She is. Lily's great." 

Mrs. Figg shuffled back into the room. "All right. Harry, I called your aunt. She said to send you home. James, you come to the kitchen with me and we'll straighten you out." 

Sighing, Harry stood up. "Well, thanks." 

"Sure, kid." 

His heart sinking into his shoes, Harry wandered out the door, wondering what sort of trouble he was going to be in this time, and thinking heavily on what James told him Lily would say. It made sense. It was gonna be hard, but he vowed not to let Dudley, or his aunt and uncle, get to him. After all, in a couple years he'd be going away to school, and then his life with them would be just some bad dream he could forget.

* * *

Walking into the large kitchen, James stopped when he noticed the green flames in the fireplace. 

"In," the woman ordered, still looking pale and shaky. "Dumbledore said he'd straighten this all out." 

"You know Dumbledore?" 

The woman started to open her mouth and answer, but the sound never reached James's ears. Instead, the heavy sensation of falling came to him again and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

James woke to a loud scream, his eyes snapping open. Instinctively, he tried to take his wand out of his pocket, ony to find that it wasn't there. Looking around, his head pounding, he saw Petunia, standing on the dinning room chair, staring down at him in horror, screetching. 

"What have I done? Sprouted another head?" Suddenly, memories of the last hour returned to him. Looking around the Evanes' kitchen, he wondered vaguely why he was there on the floor, and where the old woman and the fireplace had gone... 

"James!" Lily ran into the room, her coat and hat still on. Dropping down beside him, she pushed his hair back from his face, her eyes wide and panicked. "What happened? You were just sitting there with me and then you weren't!" 

Sitting up, James looked at her. "I don't know, exactly. I think I dreamed about a little kid who was getting beat up. I think it was a dream." 

Hugging him tightly, Lily said, "Don't ever disappear on me like that again. I was so worried." 

Smiling, enjoying the side effect of his romp through Neverland, James patted her hair shoothingly. "I'll never leave you. I promise." 

Petunia was still standing on her chair, staring down at them, muttering about freaks and abmnormal boys who appeared out of nowhere on kitchen floors. 

end 

notes: yes, if you didn't pick up on it, i do have the evanses as having owned mrs. figg's house before she lived there. i figured it woud make sense for petunia to have married "that nice dursley boy from down the street..." she does seem the type, doesn't she? 


End file.
